


Ink and Petals

by DeliriousMess



Category: Haven - Fandom, Haven RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeliriousMess/pseuds/DeliriousMess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jennifer owns a tattoo parlor and she’s finally getting some of her life rearranged after almost losing everything, when a new person moves in next door. A man named Duke who just wants to own his flower shop in peace. But with friends like these, who needs enemies?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Running was a focuser for Jennifer. Even when she’d been little and so jam-packed full of energy that even the other kids in the neighborhood couldn’t keep up with her. “Energizer Bunny,” her mom called her.

She wasn’t wrong.

Jennifer always felt like if she wasn’t doing something, she’d explode, and thankfully, running was something she could do.

And do well.

Running also let her think, let her gain control of the thoughts fumbling around in her head, and, most importantly, it calmed her down for the rest of the day. And she really needed to keep calm in her work.

No one wants a tattoo from an angry person.

One of her employees, Tina, often talked about how the mood of the person doing the tattooing could actually influence the tattoo itself. Like anger being etched into the piece would influence the person or others who looked at the piece. Same for happiness, jealousy, sadness—anything.

In Jennifer’s case, distractedness and barely controlled rage were the two that frequently “influenced” her work.

Tina was very adamant about helping Jennifer to “clear” herself if she was bringing in negativity to the shop—encouraging meditation, “cleansing her aura”—sometimes if Tina beats her to work after her jog, she won’t let her in because she’s still “vibing wrong.” Jennifer had pointed out (eventually, and after she and Tina had warmed up to each other a bit more and Tina had agreed to stop locking Jennifer out of _her_ parlor) that the same could be true of anything that a person makes—souls are like that. Tina had grinned at that and said, “Ah, there is hope for you yet, Little One.” Jennifer had made sure to squash that nickname before it went passed Tina. Now, most everyone around calls her “Mason” which she much prefers, as it also grants her some ambiguity and androgyny when it comes to certain tattoo-circles. Apparently having a blatantly feminine name like “Jennifer” was enough to discredit her with a few other tattoo artists, and she was getting a little tired of the constant sexism.

She had no dreams of being anything bigger than what she was right now, but that didn’t mean she didn’t work her ass of just as hard as anyone else in the business. She turned the volume up on the dance song she was running to, a new anger having bubbled up in her at remembering the bullshit misogyny she’d had to deal with, and started trying to match her footfalls to the bass as she readjusted her grip on the leash of the blue Doberman that ran beside her. People on the street were generally good about moving out of her way when she ran her route in the city, after all, who wants to get in the way of a short, tattoo covered woman with a running scowl—even if she was wearing a bright pink running shirt and rainbow running shoes. Add in a Doberman to the mix and people on the street were _extra_ considerate to give them a wide breadth of space to stay out of their way.

Thea looked up at her briefly when she felt the shift of the leash and collar around her neck, only to go back to looking ahead of them, panting wildly and tongue lolling. Jennifer had been really into running in middle and high school—even got a few offers for track and field scholarships from a number of colleges. Unfortunately, she’d had other plans for her future, and let her running fall to the wayside to focus on her art.

She dodged a man standing outside an office building, yelling angrily into a cellphone, keeping her pace steady and her hold on Thea’s leash tight. Come to think of it, she’d only really gotten back into running when she’d started dating Michael a year or so ago. She hadn’t made the connection between her newfound desire to run and her displeasure in her relationship with him at the time, but by the time she’d ended things with him it became clearer—along with plenty of other things about him and their relationship. She liked to say that it was the only good thing that had come out of her relationship with him, and most of her friends had agreed, even if they never did understand her compulsion to be up well before she actually needed to be—often well before the sun was even up—in order to run around the city with only her dog and her music player for company.

Holly, her second in command at the shop, often grumbled about how she could’ve worked for a shop that didn’t open until nine, “But _no_ , I had to work for the tiny runner who’s up at six everyday.”

Jennifer would just grin back at her, “You could’ve been a teacher, right?”

Holly would just shudder in response.

Thea, of course, loved it—but really, she was a big dog in a big city; there weren’t a lot of opportunities to go until she was exhausted. When Jennifer had started running again, Thea was right there with her, often pulling her to go faster. Jennifer rounded the last corner of her route, putting her on the street of her tattoo parlor. It was an already humid summer day, with the sun slowly climbing over and through the buildings and beginning to beat down on her back. She’d gotten fairly good at timing out her runs so that by the time she was running back down her street to her parlor, the other shops were starting to open. In the summer, as she would pass the shops, she’d usually do it just as the sun was rising; she liked to imagine that when she ran past the stores like this, she was bringing the sun with her and bringing with her their new day. Like the sun was her wings. Probably a foolish thought, she was sure, but we all have our things that make starting the day easier.

Usually, by the time she reached her shop at the end of her run, the sun had more properly taken its place in the sky, and would beat down on her as she walked back into her shop. All of the other stores were meant to open at eight, but in all her years living and working on this street, not once had any of the shops actually opened at eight o’clock on the dot.

It’d start with the bookshop at the top of the street that was across from the last corner she turned on at 8:02. She could usually see the owner, Adelaide, a friend and frequent costumer of hers, flipping her “Closed” sign over to “Open” first thing, and today was no exception. She only glanced at the shop long enough to know that Adelaide was yawning as she flipped the sign, with a mug of something in her hand as she did, her short brown hair sticking out in various directions from sleep. Her three cats slept in the wide display windows of the shop, absorbing some of that early morning sun before people started coming in to pet them.

Jennifer wondered, sometimes, if the cats actually realized that the point of the shop was _not_ for various people to come and pet them, but for books. But cats will think what they want. Jennifer waved briefly at the shop as she passed, but she was more than reasonably certain that Adelaide hadn’t noticed her.

Next was the music store that was next door to the bookstore, owned by Celli and Abra, a sweet couple who had come to her for an anniversary tattoo last month, at 8:05. Celli, a small Filipino woman, flipped the sign today, all bright colors and big smiles as she looked out at the street. She waved enthusiastically as Jennifer ran passed, grinning broadly and infectiously, causing Jennifer to flash her a quick smile before she had to focus back on her feet and the sidewalk in front of her. Celli often was the one to flip the sign, since Abra was decidedly not a morning person, but every once in a while, she’d see the two of them bustling around the shop in the morning. They often taught music lessons in a backroom at the shop—soundproof, of course, so that their lessons wouldn’t bother people in Adelaide’s—and some of their clients preferred early mornings, or mid-afternoon, usually after school for the younger students. They both have degrees in music and various instruments—Celli for the love of it, Abra to carry on her family’s store—and sold various instruments and accessories, as well as CDs and records. They loved what they do, and loved sharing it with others, and that love infects everything that’s played in the shop.

That is, if you believe everything Tina says.

Thea tugged slightly at her leash, pulling Jennifer from her thoughts; she was starting to get impatient to be home, and that prompted Jennifer to run a bit harder as they went.

On the side of the street that Jennifer was on, the next place was the café that was owned by Hispanic woman named Cadence who’d inherited it from her mother when she’d retired two years ago. Usually she passed it at around 8:10, and it was the second to last shop before she was home. Jennifer never usually saw her in the shop when she passed, mostly because Cadence would go to some of the other shops with their coffee orders to help them to start up their days. Jennifer didn’t know her as well as she knew the other three—she had yet to come to her for a tattoo and her relationship with her only went as far as her afternoon coffee order—but apparently she and the other store owners on this street had all known each other since they were kids so since she knew three, she basically knew them all.

Cadence was sweet, though, Jennifer knew that much. And she cared deeply about the people in her life. She just…had a very _rough_ exterior that not many people can get passed. Cadence, or _Cadencia_ as her mother often could be heard yelling from the kitchen where she often was—“retired” was an easier word to use than “Her name is no longer on the official documents but she basically is still working there every day”—was a very tall woman who looked how Jennifer was sure most people imagined Amazons to look. She was sweeping in the shop as Jennifer passed, her perpetual scowl already firmly in place, until she heard something from further in the shop and turned to respond to it.

Thea tugged again on her leash, harder this time, trying to pull Jennifer with her into a sprint. Jennifer just let out a breathless chuckle in response, before a song with an even faster tempo than the previous song came blaring through her headphones. She rolled her eyes at the Universe and it’s timing, before indulging Thea and sped her pace to match the new tempo.

The last shop before the parlor was the antique store. It was run by woman named Viridian, a pale, freckled thing with thick dark brown hair that was often done up in a sloppy bun, and tired, dark brown eyes that matched her hair. She was a kind woman, quiet as she was, and Jennifer often popped over to her store to find newer and stranger things to add to her collection of “Miscellaneous Inspiration” that she had in her office and tattooing space. Viri had yet to ask her for a tattoo, but Jennifer had told her that the offer was always open should she change her mind.

But there was something going on in the previously vacant shop between Viridian’s store and her parlor that was drawing her attention away from her usual neighbor’s store. She knew it had been going through some renovations over the past couple of months, but today it looked like someone was finally moving in.

Any other time, she would’ve stopped and asked one of the movers what was going on; this morning, however, Thea had other plans.

And no one argues with Queen Thea.

She settled for a couple of courtesy glances at the boxes that the movers were working with—a lot of flowers and various other things to tend to and care for said flowers—and gave a polite wave and smile to the movers that she was in the way of. Thea was pulling desperately at the leash now that home was so close, and Jennifer had no qualms with indulging her so she could get back into her apartment to hop into her shower. There were few simple pleasures in this world that could compare to jumping into a hot shower after a good workout, and she was never one to deny herself simple pleasures. Thea danced impatiently next to her while she went to open the door, and immediately lunged for the dish of water that was by the front counter, that Holly was standing at the edge of, scribbling things in the appointment book.

Jennifer bent to undo Thea’s leash, pulling out a headphone as she did. When she straightened, she smacked a kiss onto Holly’s cheek. Holly immediately groaned in disgust and moved to push her away, “Ugh, God—with the sweat!”

Jennifer just grinned at her as she tried to catch her breath, leaning on the counter next to her, “Morning!”

“Yeah, yeah, and what a morning it is.” Holly grumbled, flipping pages a bit angrily on the large calendar that sat in the middle of the counter as she scribbled corresponding dates and other notes into the appointment book. Holly wasn’t usually so grouchy, but the stress of trying to help Jennifer keep the shop afloat hadn’t been doing wonders for her disposition. Jennifer appreciated everything Holly did for her, though, and thankfully she knew it.

Thea, having drunk her fill of water—or at the very least, having sloshed enough of the water out of the bowl and onto the hardwood floor to leave it empty—walked away from the pair and climbed on to her chair in the corner of the waiting room under her wall of portraits.

Jennifer had made it a rule, shortly after she’d adopted Thea, that all new hires had to draw a portrait of her in order to demonstrate their skills—and also win over Thea.

“It’s Thea’s world,” Jennifer had often said, “We’re just living in it.” Once the portraits were done, if they were satisfactory to Jennifer and to Thea, she had them framed and hung on the wall above the overstuffed armchair that Jennifer had placed in the far corner. It had originally been intended for customers, but it very quickly became Thea’s “throne”—which was more of a joke on the fact that Thea was short for “Theodora,” after the Byzantine Empress from the 6th century. Jennifer liked to peg her name choice on her father being a “giant history nerd” but it had more to do with Jennifer’s own research into it; because the nerdlette doesn’t fall far from the tree. The canary yellow wall was now practically covered in various renditions of the Doberman’s likeness, which, Jennifer was sure, would be how the real Theodora would’ve liked it. Thea rested her head on the armrest of the chair to watch the street, still panting heavily.

“Oh c’mon, Hol, the Queen’s in her throne; all’s good!” Jennifer panted at her, still grinning and gesturing behind her towards Thea, now lounging luxuriously in her armchair.

Holly pushed a water bottle that had been sitting next to her on the counter towards Jennifer, shooting her an unimpressed look, while Jennifer enthusiastically unscrewed the top and began to chug it.

“Remember to breathe, Jen. We can’t really afford a hospital bill yet.” Holly said plainly, still flipping through the calendar. She scratched under her dreads with her pen. Holly had long dreadlocks done in a Mohawk that fell down her back, with various ones dyed a bright red that contrasted against her naturally dark hair and skin. She was wearing black denim cut off shorts, and a yellow t-shirt that had been repurposed into a tank top by cutting off the sleeves and opening the sides. Her clothes showed off her various pieces on her legs, sides, and arms. She was also at least a foot taller than Jennifer, making her a towering force in the shop when she chose to be—and she often chose to be.

Jennifer panted around a mirthless laugh, “Yeah. Don’t remind me.”

Holly looked at her for a moment before patting her hand sympathetically, her earlier agitation forgotten for the moment. Jennifer’s ex, Michael, had previously worked for her as a tattoo artist. Jennifer knew that her first mistake had been dating an employee, but she didn’t know how big of a mistake it was until she broke up and fired him for trying to be more of an owner of the shop than he was ever going to be—there were other reasons too, of course, but that was the straw that broke the camel’s back—but not before he took half her artists with him and left to start his own store on the other side of the city, leaving her half staffed, with only half the clientele that she had previously, and therefore with half as much revenue as she had been making.

Up until last month, she had barely been able to keep the lights on—a hospital bill, even a hypothetical one, was still way out of the question. Jennifer took another, much slower, drink from her water bottle, suddenly eager to get back to moving to keep herself from following that line of thought and undoing everything that the run had done for her, “I’m gonna head up and take a shower.”

“No, you’re not.” Holly negated, pulling her hand away and glancing back at the calendar again, “You got a client.”

Jennifer gave her a confused look, “Who? And why so early?”

Holly narrowed her eyes at her as she pulled a towel out from under the counter and handed it to her, “Do I look like your fuckin’ secretary?”

Jennifer tossed the towel over her shoulder and looked Holly up and down, surveying her, before smirking, “Well. Maybe throw on a short skirt and we’ll be closer.”

She smacked Holly’s ass as she turned from the counter, earning her an angry exclamation in response. Jennifer laughed and headed back to her room. There were three doors before hers, and then there were three others around the corner. They’d been empty since Michael’s coup, and Jennifer hadn’t had time to higher new artists yet. She hadn’t even managed to recruit new apprentices. It was only her, Holly, and Tina now, and they were still only just barely making it. Further down the hallway was the door that led to the stairs up to her apartment, but she’d have to wait a bit longer before she could get to it.

She opened her door to see a man who could very easily be mistaken for a Viking surveying some of the things hanging on her “Miscellaneous Inspiration” wall.

“Sasquatch!” She exclaimed, grinning at the tall, blond man standing in her room, “I didn’t think you were coming in until this afternoon. To what do I owe this very early call?”

“Sasquatch” or Dwight Hendrickson as he was usually known, turned and smirked at her, “Just an early morning. Or was it a late night? I can’t really tell anymore, Pipsqueak.”

He opened his arms to offer her a hug and took a step towards her but she held up a hand to stop him, “Ah-ah.”

At his confused look, she gestured up and down her body, “Just got back from a run—you probably don’t want any of this sweat on you.”

He pulled his arms back to his sides, pointing at her and smirking, “Good call.”

“So what brings you here so early?” She asked, momentarily leaning against the doorframe and patting herself down with the towel.

“Like I said. Early morning.” Dwight replied, crossing his arms.

“Or a late night.” She added, crossing her own arms and mirroring him.

At Dwight’s sigh and conceding nod, Jennifer tsked her tongue at him in mock disapproval. She sat on her wheeled stool, patting the dentist-style tattoo chair in front of her as she went, “You _gotta_ talk to that chief of yours about giving you time off—or at least scheduling you better.”

Dwight climbed into the chair and sighed, “Right. I’ll get right on that—we’ll just tell the city to be crime free for a night.”

Jennifer made a face at him before wiping her face with her towel and tossing it to the side, “That was exactly my point. What about that partner of yours? Can’t she pick up some of your shifts so you can actually sleep? The city won’t burn down just because you let McKee do her job solo for a night.”

Dwight shrugged, “Jordan’s got her own stuff to worry about. And I’ve been sleeping plenty.”

“Uh-huh.” Jennifer arched an eyebrow skeptically at him, “Have you spoken to the precinct psychologist recently?”

Dwight narrowed his eyes at her, “I see Claire plenty.”

“During actual office hours? You know, you on the couch, her in the chair, a lot of ‘And’—,” she changed her voice to sound like a bastardized version of a daytime television show host who claimed to be a psychological doctor, “—‘how, does that make you _feel_?’” She asked as she put some hand sanitizer on her hands before pulling out a pair of black nitrile gloves from the box on her little work table and putting them on.

Dwight just made a few vague noises in response, earning yet another unimpressed look from Jennifer as she snapped the glove against her wrist.

Dwight rolled his eyes at her, “Oh c’mon—I’m _fine,_ Jennifer; even Claire thinks so. Besides, you two talk enough about me that if she was _really_ concerned, she’d say something.”

Jennifer simply continued her skepticism as she spun in her chair to pull out the rubbing alcohol and disposable razor from the cabinet under the counter that was behind her to eventually disinfect and shave the tattoo that he wanted her to work with. She and Claire had become friends because of their common link of Dwight—specifically making sure that he was taking proper care of himself—and that had eventually evolved into a relationship that caused Dwight more headaches than anything else. Which was saying a lot, given that he was a police officer in a fairly… _unusual_ city.

“I’m gonna tell her you said that,” she mumbled to herself, earning another eye roll from Dwight.

The pause as she set out her supplies settled over them both a bit awkwardly until Dwight glanced at her, trying to joke with her, “You smell bad.”

“Always the charmer.” She replied, smirking despite herself, “Like I said; I went for a run. And I _had_ planned on getting a shower before I had to see any clients today. Look how that went. Now you have to deal with me in all sweaty, post-run glory ‘cause _you_ couldn’t wait to see me. I suppose I should be flattered.”

Dwight rolled his eyes, “Ah. So this is my fault.”

“Lookin’ that way.” Jennifer grinned. He rolled his eyes at her again before she finally asked, “Alright. So. What’re we doin’ here, ‘Squatch?”

Dwight started taking his shirt off, “The piece for Lizzy.”

Jennifer arched an eyebrow at him as he balled his Henley shirt in his lap, “It hasn’t been that long since I last looked at it. You sure you want me to touch it up already?”

Dwight nodded, “Yeah I do. I know it hasn’t been long, but I was also wondering if we could talk about extending the piece some?”

Jennifer pressed at the skin around the tattoo to look at it—it’d healed up well since the last session a few months ago so she didn’t feel bad about working on it. She grabbed some gauze and dabbed some rubbing alcohol onto it, “Just the one?”

Dwight nodded.

Jennifer smiled sadly at him as she cleaned the tattoo, keeping her eyes on her hands, “All ‘bout her, right ‘Squatch?”

He nodded again, a grim set in his jaw now, “All about her, Pipsqueak.”

Jennifer worked in silence again as she shaved then disinfected the tattoo again. Dwight just leaned back, staring into the lights above the chair.

Lizzy was Dwight’s daughter; she had died about five years ago in an auto accident that she and Dwight were in. Dwight walked away from the accident, Lizzy didn’t. Dwight’s wife left him about a year after, the loss of Lizzy, her inability to forgive Dwight, and Dwight’s having thrown himself into his work to try to cope all driving the final nails into the coffin of their relationship. That same year, Dwight had come to Jennifer with the idea for a memorial piece for Lizzy written down—Jennifer had come up with the rest, taking a note from Tina’s book, and tried to incorporate as much love and compassion as she could into it as she worked on it. The tattoo, for Jennifer at least, was as much about paying homage to the lost little girl, as it was about helping Dwight to heal from his loss.

“All about Lizzy,” they had said.

Well, at least it was half true.

“So what do you think?” Dwight asked, turning in the chair to direct his voice at Jennifer, as she started mixing the inks that she already knew she was going to need to re-touch his tattoo at the counter.

“About?” Jennifer replied, not looking up from her work at the counter behind the chair.

“Global warming.” Dwight replied dryly.

Jennifer glared at him over her shoulder. He rolled his eyes at her, “About extending the piece, Pipsqueak.”

“We certainly can,” Jennifer said, spinning back in her stool and pushing herself towards the chair again, “Want me to touch up what we got and then we can talk about what you had in mind in the way of additions?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dwight conceded, shifting slightly in the chair to get more comfortable before she started to work. Jennifer spread an ointment over the tattoo before starting the touch up process.

Jennifer had first met Dwight about seven years ago, shortly after she’d opened the shop, though it hadn’t been one of her better moments. It had been a drunk and disorderly call and Dwight had been the cop who answered. In her defense, it _had_ been her grand opening party, and that statue in the park was just _asking_ to be defaced. It was in that encounter that she had first called him “Sasquatch”—something she had yelled while initially trying to evade arrest from him; something to the effect of “You can’t catch me, you Sasquatch!” and when he had caught her, she kept yelling, “Put me down! Help! Help I’m being arrested by Sasquatch!” This was also the first time he had called her “Pipsqueak” in response—something to the effect of, “Nice try, Pipsqueak. Maybe try evading the police when you’ve grown some”—and had tossed her over his shoulder in order to get her to calm down and stop thrashing around so much. It wasn’t exactly standard police procedure, but she had evaded his grasp three times prior to that and each time she had slipped out of his arms, she’d led him on a chase for another block or so.

Not exactly her greatest first impression, but the following apology, pastries from Cadence’s café, and the promise of precinct wide tattoos at a discount helped a great deal.

A month later, Dwight came to her shop with a design in mind for a tattoo and their friendship grew from there. Since then, they developed a sort of “Big Brother”/“Younger Sister” sort of relationship, made up mostly of snide and sarcastic comments and relentless teasing to mask a deep, platonic affection for each other. Not that they would ever, _ever_ actually say it out loud.

Holly had once asked her why she kept letting “that Dwight guy” into the shop if she hated him so much and Jennifer had given her a confused look, “I don’t hate Dwight.”

“But you’re always ragging on each other!”

Jennifer had just shrugged, “That’s just how we are.”

Holly didn’t ask any other questions about their relationship after that, though mostly because she would say that she couldn’t handle another headache like that.

He’d brought Lizzy to the shop a couple of times before the accident, and Jennifer had gotten to know her fairly well. Lizzy had been a gentle girl who liked to dance and who wanted Jennifer to help her learn how to draw. Pretty much all the girls of the other shops had gotten to know and had grown to care about Lizzy and Dwight—Brielle, the daughter of Adelaide, the bookstore owner, had followed Lizzy around as if she were the coolest person she’d ever met. Celli and Abra had played music for her to dance to, and offered to teach her how to play any instrument she wanted. She’d chosen the trumpet, much to Dwight’s endless complaint. Cadence always had her favorite pastry for her when she came by—usually insisting that she always had them available, though everyone knew that to be false. And Viridian always saved the weirdest new antique she’d gotten until Lizzy came to see it and couldn’t wait to tell her about it.

They were like a family. They had all felt Dwight’s loss with him, they had all mourned with him, and every time Jennifer worked on Dwight’s piece, she felt that all again. She tried to counter those feelings of loss and regret, with the positive things that she remembered about Lizzy.

Her smile, her laugh, how she would practice her pirouette in the waiting room of the shop while Holly helped her, even how she’d once fallen asleep curled up next to Thea on the couch while she waited for Dwight to be done. She kept all that warmth and positivity in her mind as she worked.

“To help the healing,” as Tina would say.

Tina could be spooky, but she was also often right about a lot of things.

“So what’s going on next door? Any word on who’s moving in?” Dwight was saying, pulling Jennifer from her thoughts and back to the present.

Jennifer shook her head, not looking up, “No idea. Looked like they were hauling in a bunch of flowers and shit—maybe a botanist?”

“What would a _botanist_ have to sell?” Dwight asked skeptically.

“Botany?” Jennifer replied, already smirking at her joke.

“Wow.” Dwight said, incredulously. “Well, Jesus, ‘Squatch, you’re the cop! Shouldn’t _you_ know who’s who and what’s what around here?” Jennifer returned.

“I think you have a basic misunderstanding about what my job actually _is_.” Dwight smirked at her, “Besides, _you’re_ the one who lives _and_ works here—don’t you pay attention?”

“You really wanna smart mouth the woman tattooing you right now?” Jennifer paused in her work briefly to glare mockingly up at him.

“Valid point.” Dwight conceded, “But still. You have no idea at all about who’s going to be living next door to you?”

Jennifer shrugged and moved to answer him only to be distracted by a light knocking on her doorframe. Jennifer looked up to see Tina standing in her doorway. She was wearing a long patchwork skirt with an oversized light blue t-shirt, the excess of which she had balled up and tied against her right hip with a rubber band so that a bit of her midriff was showing. The monster tattoo she’d first gotten done when Jennifer hired her peeked out, grinning, over the waistband of the skirt in the exposed space between waistband and t-shirt. Her long, wavy red hair was in a thick braid over her shoulder, her pale skin was a bit flushed from her walk to the shop in the early morning heat, causing her freckles to become more pronounced thanks to the pink hue that had spread across her cheeks and nose, and her blue eyes were bright in what Jennifer could only read as excitement.

Jennifer grinned at her, “Hey Tina, what’s the word?”

Tina grinned, twirling the end of her braid around her finger, and bounced on the balls of her feet, “Good things are coming.”

Jennifer chuckled at her, “Can I ask for something more specific? Or is the Universe really enjoying its vagueness today?”

Tina’s eyes just sparkled back, her grin widening, “Good things. They’re moving in next door.”

With that, Tina turned from the door, heading back towards the front of the shop with a literal bounce in her step and calling over her shoulder to Jennifer, “Good things, Mason! Very good things!”

“Thank you Tina!” Jennifer called back, shaking her head as she smiled, and turned back to Dwight and her work.

Dwight quirked an eyebrow at her, “Spooky chick.”

Jennifer shrugged back, almost immediately feeling defensive of Tina, “She can be.”

There was a pause, Dwight sensing that he’d overstepped a boundary, and Jennifer not really in the mood to get snappish with her friend. The whirring of her needle gun was the only sound between them, before Jennifer decided to throw Dwight a bone and added, “But she’s right more often than she is wrong.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was busy in the diner.

Granted, it was always busy in the diner, but that was especially the case for breakfast.

Duke sighed to himself as he sat down, once again lamenting to himself that he had to choose a place with the best pancakes this side of the city for his favorite breakfast spot. Duke surveyed the other patrons of the diner around him from his seat at the counter. A pair of kids were fiddling with the jukebox, looking a little devious as they went, prompting Duke to hope that he could get his breakfast before whatever they had planned for the music played. Otherwise, there were plenty of people in the booths and tables of the diner, and he’d been lucky to snag the seat he had at the counter when he did.

Julia, the brunette waitress who’d been working at the Safe Haven Diner since before Duke had started to go to it, flashed him a warm smile as he caught her eye. She’d started working there, at first, to help to try to wrangle her mother in and to be there to constantly try to convince her retire already—but as soon as Audrey learned about Julia’s baking skills, she refused to ever let her leave. Thankfully, though, last year Julia decided to open her own bakery, and was still more than willing to work with Audrey and Nathan to supply them with various pastries once she actually had her bakery. She and Eleanor were still working on getting the money together, and finding a space, so for now they continued to work at the diner.

Fairly happily too, if he had to guess.

He gave her a small wave in response to her smile, smirking as he did. Julia carried her grin back to the couple whose order she was taking and the disposition of that part of the diner seemed to lighten slightly.

A good smile will do that.

On the other side of the diner, Jack Driscoll, an old friend of his, was taking the orders of an excited group of tourists as they clamored over each other, hardly seeming to pay him any mind. When Jack caught his eye, there was a quiet plea in his gaze, only for Duke to shrug at him as his way of trying to ask him what Jack expected him to do. Jack just sighed back and plastered a horribly fake smile on his face as he turned back to a woman who was wearing a visor that was straight out of the 90s as she pointed enthusiastically at something on the menu.

Down the bar from him was a dark haired cop named Jordan, her early morning scowl well in place as Nathan, the brown haired stoic man who owned the diner with his wife, Audrey, poured her another cup of coffee. Duke kept his gaze moving before Jordan noticed him looking and shot that glare of hers his way. They weren’t the best of friends—if anything they were more like strained acquaintances and they generally tried to stay out of each other’s way. It was too good of a morning to start out with an angry cop lady on his case.

Audrey, the aforementioned wife and co-owner of the diner, grinned at him as she placed a mug in front of him and poured him some coffee, “Mornin’, Duke!”

“Audrey,” he smiled back at her as she absently tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. As she did, another strand fell free from her ponytail, too short to truly be held back like the rest of her hair.

“Shouldn’t you be moving?” She asked, setting the coffee pot on the counter and leaning on it slightly, blue eyes bright as they looked him over, “I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you, of course.”

Duke gave her a knowing nod as he took a drink from his coffee mug, “Of course.”

Audrey arched an eyebrow at him and tilted her head towards him, a signal for him to answer her question.

He just grinned back at her, “Yes, it _is_ moving day; the movers are getting most of the stuff set up for the shop now so that I can just focus on setting up my apartment that’s up the street from it—they’ll get the bigger stuff from my place later today.”

Audrey nodded, “Sounds like a busy day. And what about your boat?”

Duke took another drink from his coffee, “The Rouge is fine—Got her docked at a marina on the north side of town, closer to where I’m moving. She was one of the only things Evi _didn’t_ want in the divorce, after all. Besides, how else am I supposed to bring in those exotic flowers that I’m so well known for?”

“You could try legally.” Nathan offered, joining the conversation and wrapping an arm around Audrey’s waist.

Jordan left her seat at the counter, passing Duke as she did.

Duke gave her a short nod, “Officer McKee.”

She simply arched an eyebrow at him as she passed, “Crocker.”

If she had heard Nathan’s crack about the questionable legality of Duke’s acquisition of some of the exotic flowers he often sold, she didn’t make it obvious.

The bells on the door of the diner jingled as Jordan made her way back out to the street that was bustling on the other side of the diner windows. The heat of the street brushed up against Duke’s back like a wave with the opening of the door, and was just as quickly replaced with a sweep of the cooled air from the air conditioner as the door closed.

Duke smirked back at Nathan, “Now where’s the fun in that?”

Audrey chuckled while Nathan rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek, murmuring to her about how they needed help in the kitchen—Eleanor and Gloria were bickering up a storm, apparently, and they needed Audrey to go mitigate the disagreement.

Audrey sighed, “Of course. Because who _else_ can keep our two chefs from killing each other?”

“The diner can’t function without you,” Nathan said, smiling down at her.

She playfully narrowed her eyes at him before she turned back to Duke and leaned across the counter to kiss his cheek, “Good luck with the move; if I don’t see you before you go, take care of yourself.”

“It’s just the other side of the city, Audrey, not the other side of the _country_.” Duke smiled at her, patting her hand.

Audrey smiled back at him, placing her left hand over his on her right and giving his a squeeze, “Humor me.”

With that, she left Duke and Nathan to what she knew would become their usual bout of bickering. She could only keep one bickering pair from killing each other a day, and she’d given up on trying to stop Nathan and Duke a long time ago. At least Eleanor and Gloria could eventually see reason, even if that reason was in a shared bottle of liquor.

After hours, of course.

“So.” Nathan sighed, crossing his arms, “You’re really doing this.”

Duke chuckled at him, finishing his coffee, “Yes, Nathan, I am really doing this.”

“Evi really cleaned you out, huh?” Nathan asked, pouring him another cup.

Duke shrugged, smirking mirthlessly, “She got what she wanted—the apartment and the old store front.”

Nathan grimaced sympathetically, prompting another shrug from Duke, “Eh, it is what it is. I’ve been meaning to move the store anyway; look for a new market and clients.”

Nathan nodded and mouthed an “ah” in response. Nathan pulled out his small notepad to write down Duke’s order, “Alright. Well. What can I get you?”

Duke crossed his arms as he leaned over the counter, giving Nathan the grin he usually does before he started messing with him, “Waffles. Like always.”

Nathan sighed exasperatedly, “And, like always, I have to remind you that our specialty here is _pancakes_.”

“Aw, c’mon, Nate,” Duke’s grin widened, “It’s my last day here. Surely that warrants making an _exception_.”

They both knew that the request for waffles wasn’t an outlandish thing, but ever since Duke had first walked into the diner eight years ago and had sat in this exact spot to ask for waffles, it’d been a part of the dance that he and Nathan did.

Nathan just glowered in response, prompting Duke to lay his arms on the counter and point out, “ _Audrey_ would make me waffles if I asked.”

“Yeah, well, _Audrey_ is not here— _I_ am. And _I’m_ telling you that our specialty here is _pancakes_. I’ll be happy to get you an order of those, if you want.”

Duke scowled mockingly, “It’s like you enjoy upsetting me.”  
Nathan shrugged, barely managing to hide his smirk and keep his usual stoic face, “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Duke glared at him for another minute before sighing, “Spinach omelet with sausage links and an orange juice—unless you _only_ serve pancakes here, in which case, I’ll be happy to take my business elsewhere.”

Nathan gave him an unimpressed look as he ripped the sheet from his notebook and turned to clip it on the line that hung in the window between the kitchen and the rest of the diner. There was a brief rising of voices from the kitchen—something about how Eleanor wouldn’t know a frying pan from a wok if it bit her, which prompted Eleanor to invite Gloria to do just that. This was followed by Audrey quickly prompting both of them to step away from the fire and the knives and a loud crash of some sort that usually would result in a hushed panic coming across the patrons of the diner, but there were enough regulars there to keep the atmosphere buzzing as if nothing had happened.

Nathan left to go take other orders as Duke called after him, “You’re going to miss me, Nathan Wuornos!”

Nathan just waved dismissively at him over his shoulder as he went back to work. Duke chuckled as he turned back to his cup of coffee. Truth be told, he’d miss this place probably long before they started to miss him. He and Nathan actually went all the way back to childhood in the same small town—admittedly it was a bit of a rough shared childhood, but it was a shared childhood nonetheless. When he and his wife Evi had moved here shortly after their wedding, Duke was plenty surprised to not only find Jack Driscoll working at this diner, but Nathan Wuornos as it’s owner.

The world just couldn’t be _that_ small, could it?

And yet it was. Despite his testaments to the contrary, he didn’t mind having those two weak links back to his past there in his new life—it added a good juxtaposition of what he had achieved and what he had left behind. And besides, who doesn’t love teasing an old friend after years of not seeing each other?

But now he was staring down the barrel of a true change once again and unless the world was actually shrinking to the size of certain famous theme park ride, he doubted that there was going to be another connection to his past in the new part of the city he was going to. He didn’t hold anything against Evi, now that the divorce was finalized—he knew all too well that it could’ve been much messier than it had been—but that didn’t change the fact that this place had been his home for the last eight and a half years. These people were his friends and he would miss the sense of belonging he had here. The new part of the city, where he was moving, seemed to be in a nice enough place—plenty of independent businesses and a good sense community. Something in the community or the people there, made him feel…well, the easiest way to put it was that it made him feel like good things were coming.

Nathan placed the order in front of Duke, earning an appreciative nod from him in response. Nathan just nodded back as well, before quickly moving on to the rest of the patrons. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out as he unrolled his silverware from his paper napkin and opened the new text message. The movers were letting him know that one of the other shop owners next door to him had opened the door for them and they wanted to make sure that they had his “go ahead” to start moving things. He assumed it had been the woman who owned the antique store—not that he doubted the owners of the tattoo parlor on the other side of the shop would’ve denied the movers help, but he hadn’t really met whoever they were yet in order to make that judgment. One of his new neighbors, the owner of the antique store, a woman named Viridian or something, was a demur little thing and had been kind to him the few times they’d spoken. She’d even offered to introduce him to the rest of the storeowners on the street—apparently they did some sort of karaoke thing every Friday night at a bar a few blocks from the street of their businesses and homes.

And nothing said “getting to know you” like getting drunk and poorly singing a pop song with a bunch of strangers you plan on working with.

Duke ate his breakfast quickly, surveying the patrons again as he did, making small talk with Jack and Julia when they walked passed, and before he knew it, his breakfast was done and it was time to head towards his new home. He yelled a farewell towards the kitchen, earning an appearance by both Gloria and Eleanor—both smiling and wishing him well, their earlier argument forgotten for the moment. Audrey came back out and hugged him, telling him to take care of himself and “so help me Duke Crocker if you go to another diner for your breakfasts while you’re over there I will kick your ass.”

Julia hugged him as well, making him swear that if he found a bakery that had things that were somehow better than her pastries, to save her ego and just not tell her. He told her that he’d only ever eat her pastries anyway, so that wasn’t going to be a problem, and she’d grinned at him. Nathan and Jack, on the other hand, both just nodded their farewells at him.

With that, he walked out onto the hot summer street, climbing into his car and heading across town.

He pulled up to the storefront just as the movers were finishing up. He expressed his appreciation for the work they’d done, tipping them a few bucks each for the first move, and gave him the keys to his new and old apartment so they could start on the apartment. Once they were gone, he surveyed the store more closely. They actually had most of it set up exactly as he’d instructed them the day before so there was very little else for him to do besides some minor adjustments. They could’ve been left to be dealt with the next day, but he wasn’t really looking forward to unpacking or setting up his new place. Besides, some of the flowers needed fresh water, and a few were getting close to needing to be recut, and he wanted to make a few example arrangements to demonstrate what his shop was capable of. With that in mind, he set his keys on the counter, rolled up his sleeves as he plugged a pair of headphones into his phone to start listening to some music, and started to work.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but by the time he distantly heard a knock on his front door, he’d managed to make three new arrangements to display in his windows once he officially opened. He turned from the counter to see who could possibly need to be banging on a clearly closed flower shop’s door, only to see that it was the woman who owned the antique shop next door, smiling nervously, and holding a food bag in one hand and cup carrier in the other. Her thick, chestnut brown hair was done in a French braid from the top of her head to be tied at the back of her neck. She was wearing an oversized, brown, sweater that made him think of an old man’s sweater, and a pair of brown tights. Dressed like this, her light green eyes were the brightest things about her. Duke wondered how she wasn’t dying of heat stroke in the thick sweater that looked like it could only be made of wool. She waved at him sheepishly, and Duke smiled and waved back at her to be reassuring. He paused his music, pulled his headphones from his ears, and wrapped the cord over his neck as he went to unlock the door.

She couldn’t have been more than four foot six if she was an inch, and she bounced on the toes of her combat boots anxiously as she stood on his threshold, “Good afternoon!”

He smiled back, leaning against the doorframe, “So it is. Viridian, right?”

She nodded enthusiastically and accidentally barked, “Yeah!”

She winced at the volume of her voice before clearing her throat, “Sorry, that was loud. But yeah, I’m Viridian; you can call me Viri though, for short. It’s Duke right?”

He nodded, “Yes it is.”

Her smile came back at that and Duke found himself immediately endeared by her. He gestured to the bag and coffee in her hand, “One of those for me?”

She looked at the items in her hands as if she’d forgotten they were there, “Oh! Yes! Uh, ‘cause, see, our block’s kind of—we’ve all known each other for a long time—like “basically since childhood” long—and that kind of makes us a little clique-ish and that can be really intimidating for new people but you seem like a great guy—you know, the two-odd times we’ve had a chance to talk and stuff—so I was just thinking that—,”

“Okay, uh, Viri?” Duke interrupted, still smirking at her, “While this is interesting and I’d love to hear more, it is _stupid_ hot out here. Would you like to come in?”

“Oh I’m fine; I’m a lizard.” As the words left her mouth, she heard what she said and her horror at herself became clear. She quickly tried to cover for herself, “I mean that I’m a cold person—I mean I don’t get hot—I mean stop talking Viridian.”

He chuckled at her and stepped to the side to leave the doorway open enough for her to pass through, “Lizard or otherwise, why don’t you come inside and share whatever it is you’ve got in that bag with me.”

“Yes that. Let’s do that.” She smiled, relieved, and quickly walked into the shop, “Because that had been the plan and then I started talking which is never good for me.”

She set the bag and cup carrier on the counter, and walked to the other side of it, hopping onto the stool he’d been sitting on when he’d been making the arrangements, and started pulling the items from the bag. She pulled out a container of soup, a sandwich, and a smaller bag of pastries. She looked at one of the arrangement approvingly, with just the right amount of awe and wonder, before she caught herself looking with a bit too _much_ awe and wonder, and went back to focusing on her food.

He looked at the items on the counter, “So what have you brought for me on my first day here? On your intimidating, clique block?”

She grinned as she placed one of the pastries on top of the sandwich and pushed it towards him, “Food from Cadence’s café up the street. Consider this your official initiation.”

“I thought my initiation wasn’t until Friday?” Duke asked, unwrapping the sandwich and sniffing at the to-go cup suspiciously—it had a spicy-sweet aroma that he was sure he’d smelled before but couldn’t quite place, “You know, go to a bar with a pack of women, get horrendously drunk, sing Katy Perry?”

“No one said anything about Katy Perry—I think you’re projecting a little bit.” Viri chuckled, opening her small soup cup and taking a bite. She closed her eyes for a moment, apparently really appreciating the soup, before she smiled back at him.

“And that’s the _group_ initiation,” she smirked at him, taking a drink from her own cup, “and before you think the drink I brought you is somehow nefarious, it’s a chai latte—you looked like the type, and even if you aren’t, consider it to be another part of your initiation—you consume what you get from Cadence, whatever it is.”

“Noted.” Duke nodded, as he took a tentative sip. He pulled back from the first drink, and Viridian looked at him expectantly. When he nodded in answer to her unspoken question, earning a self-satisfied smile from Viridian, she continued eating her soup. He set the drink to the side to study his sandwich as he asked, “So how many parts are there to this initiation before I can just have my shop?”

“Oh you never get to ‘just have’ your shop.” Viridian said around the cup as she tilted it back to get the last of the soup into her mouth, “We all kind of rely on each other around here to keep our own shops running smoothly.”

“So is the initiation ever really over?” Duke asked around a bite of his Panini-esque sandwich.

Viri shrugged, “Sure. It just…we’re a hard group to get used to, y’know? We all have our little quirks and ticks that make us work and integrating a new person into our very carefully constructed ecosystem takes time.”

Duke sighed. He wasn’t completely surprised; it had been a similar situation at his old shop on his old street, but he certainly didn’t remember being welcomed into the fold being this involved. “Okay. So how about you fill me in on some of the rules again.”

Viri shrugged again, taking a drink from her coffee and breaking off a bite from her rather large chocolate chip cookie, “It’s not _rules_ so much as just remembering who’s who and what’s what.”

“What’s— _what_?” Duke repeated, letting his confusion be clear on his face.

Viri giggled at him, “Right. Sorry. Look, how about we just go over names? Anything else I could tell you would probably be wildly inaccurate by the time we get you to Shandy’s on Friday.”

Duke sighed, “And ‘Shandy’s’ would be…?”

“The bar. With the karaoke.” She smirked at him, “You know; get drunk with a hoard of women, sing Katy Perry? The initiation?”

“Right.” Duke nodded, “That would probably fit under the ‘what’s what’ category.”

“Yes,” Viri conceded, “and this game show’s only going to get more complicated. Who’s the owner of the bookstore at the top of the street?”

“Adelaide, right? She’s got a daughter named Brielle, and a gang of cats that basically run free. She owns Bouquin Brothers New and Used bookstore, or something.” Duke answered quickly.

“That’s good!” Viri grinned, “You’ll wanna get on her good side—she’s got sway over pretty much everyone on this street—and the street over—and the other street—basically this whole city block respects Adelaide.”

“Why? Is she blackmailing everyone?” Duke joked, finishing his sandwich.

Viri made a face—something between fear, not being surprised, and the subtle understanding that obviously Duke was joking—before mumbling, “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Duke studied her for a moment, suddenly a bit concerned about what he was walking into, as Viridian said, more clearly, “She’s just one of those people. She just kind of… _commands_ respect wherever she goes. Her husband was well-loved, too; when he was alive. But, anyway, if you make friends with Adelaide—since her shop is usually one of the first places people go to when they shop on this street—she’ll happily have a few of your arrangements in her shop and give you all her new books on horticulture, botany—probably anything plant related that comes into her hands. She’s a big believer of the whole ‘knowledge is power’ thing.”

Duke nodded, trying to commit to memory that Adelaide was the one to watch out for. Something about her—even the little information about her he had—felt familiar to him, as if he’d met her somewhere before, but he couldn’t place when or where. He decided not to dwell on it—there are stranger things in the world than feeling as if you’ve met a bookstore owner before even though you haven’t.

It was just a feeling after all.

“So who’s next?” Duke asked, studying the pastry that she’d brought him. It was just cookie, nothing dangerous about it, but he’d also promised Julia that he wouldn’t touch another pastry.

“The owners of the music store.” Viri answered. She seemed to sense his hesitance now that all was left was the cookie, and offered him an out, “Look, you ate the sandwich and seemed to enjoy the drink—I won’t rat on you to Cadence. Besides, you’ve already agreed to the karaoke night—it took us for _ever_ to finally get Mason there, so you’re already way ahead of our last initiate.”

She held her hand out to him, “Give me the cookie.”

He handed it over, uncertainty still etched into his features, but before he could second-guess himself, Viri devoured the cookie in three bites. Once it was gone, she smacked her hands together to clear it of the excess crumbs and looked at him expectantly.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Viri rolled her eyes, “The owners of the music store!”

“Oh!” Duke exclaimed, finally catching up to her, “Oh that! Okay—Celli and Abra own Skipped A Beat. It’s, like, Abra’s shop but she and Celli are married so it’s _their_ shop, right?”

Viri nodded, “They’ve been married for about a year now. The shop was Abra’s parents, but once they retired, they gave it to her. They’re a sweet pair, mostly because Celli mellows Abra out and Abra keeps Celli from trusting literally everyone.”

Duke arched an eyebrow at her, “So why do I want to be on their good side?”

“Because _they_ decide your fate on karaoke nights. Either you sing something suited to you, to the moment, and that you can actually sing and enjoy, or you’re stuck singing ‘Barbie World’ for the month.” Viri shuddered as a memory of such a punishment played out in her mind. She started to gather up the paper bags from their meal and crumple them into the larger brown bag that they’d come from as she continued, “Otherwise, they usually offer a pretty great music selection to play in your shop so that neither you nor your patrons go crazy by the end of the day. And they’ll also display your arrangements—but Celli really just likes pretty things so if you give her a free flower now and then—usually with something cute like “Made me think of you”—you’ll have her loyalty, and, by extension, Abra’s.”

“Celli’s Abra’s weakness, got it.” Duke nodded. He smirked at her, “Am I going to need a flow chart for the rest of this?”

She giggled, “Probably not until we all get drunk and start sharing stories. Alright, who’s next?”

“Cadence.” Duke answered easily, “She owns Mama Caverna’s Café which is apparently the only source of food on the street—,”  
“The only _good_ food,” Viri clarified.

“—and is also the muscle of your group.” Duke continued, smirking at her, “At least from what you’ve told me about her.”

“Yeah Cay can be pretty scary when she wants to.” Viridian nodded knowing, tossing the now balled up brown bag into the trashcan to her right that was mostly filled with flower clippings. She continued, “And she usually wants to. She inherited her shop from her mother, who continues to work in the kitchen and yell at her in Spanish when the mood strikes her—and the mood usually strikes her. She’ll be good to save you money on lunch—since pretty much everyone goes to her for lunch—in exchange for making sure that everyone always tells their customers that if they’re hungry to go to her. She’ll probably take some smaller arrangements from you to put on her tables, which’ll be great for getting your name out there. She’s sweet enough when you get to know her—and buying the first few rounds at Shandy’s will definitely help you to get to know her. She’s a marshmallow, really.”

“A marshmallow?” Duke asked.

Viridian nodded, “Totally. You get under that hard exoskeleton and she’s nothing but a soft, squishy mess. Don’t let her fool you. And definitely don’t let her intimidate you. But also don’t tell her I told you not to be afraid of her—marshmallow or not she’s got a mean right hook.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Duke smirked, thinking that that sounded like an old friend of his and bracing his hand on the counter, “Okay. So that just leaves you—what’s your story?”

Viri looked at him surprised, “Me? I don’t have one.”

Duke let out a short laugh, “Oh c’mon—everyone has a story. And in this group, that definitely seems to be true.”

Viri chewed on a corner of her lip and picked at her nails for a moment. Duke could see that she was uncomfortable and wanted to offer her an out, “Hey, I’m sorry. I just seem to be learning about everyone else, when you’ve been like the first friend I’ve made her and I hardly know anything about you.”

She smiled nervously, “No, um, it’s okay—I’m just not used to being asked that I guess. Which sounds sadder than it actually is. Um. Okay. Me. My name’s Viridian, I have an older brother, Emmett, who’s a professor at the University. I inherited Lost Treasures Antiques from my parents who took their retirement back to France where they’re—we’re?—originally from. And…that’s kind of it, I guess.”

She kept picking at her fingernails nervously as Duke gave her an expectant look. She pulled back slightly from him as she asked, “What?”

“Well, c’mon,” Duke smiled, “What are the benefits of being on _your_ good side?”

Her eyes lit up, “Oh! I can give you really unique vases for some of your arrangements, and I could always use something to brighten up my shop—it gets so gloomy in there with all that old stuff—so I’d love some of these flowers to put around the store. Also it’ll probably drive Em _crazy_ the next time he visits but that’s just a minor bonus.”

Duke grinned at her, glad to see that she’d stopped fidgeting and didn’t seem to regret sharing something about herself with him. “Okay, so that’s—,” he started to tick the names off on his fingers as he listed them—“Adelaide, Celli, Abra, Cadence, you—is there anyone else? Anyone with a _normal_ name maybe?”

Viri smirked at him, “Well you’re one to talk about a normal name, _Duke_.”

“What? It’s a family name!” Duke tried to defend. It wasn’t really, but he’d gotten used to using that excuse whenever anyone had asked about it. Truth be told, even _he_ didn’t know what his parents had been thinking when they’d named him, but then again, if he was wishing to understand anything his parents had done, his name would not have been at the top of the list.

Viri arched a speculative eyebrow at him, but answered his original question, “Well you haven’t asked about your _other_ neighbors.”

Duke gave her a confused look, “Other neighbors?”

Viri pointed in the direction of heading down the street, and he immediately caught her meaning of the tattoo parlor that was on the other side of his shop. His eyes lit up in understanding, “Oh! Them! Yeah, what’s up with them?”

Viri chuckled at him. Just as she did, a Viking-looking man came from the direction of the parlor, a hand over his heart as he rolled his shoulders in his shirt. There was a bandage made of surgical tape and gauze peeking out of the top of his shirt—typical of a healing tattoo. Duke recognized him as Jordan’s partner—Dwight something.

Interesting.

He focused back on Viri, eager to learn what he could about the people or person who owned the parlor on the other side of his shop. During the entirety of his moving process, he’d only really talked to Viri. Not once had his other neighbors come to talk to him, and that normally would’ve been fine, but given how involved the process of being welcomed into this little community has been thus far, the complete absence of any kind of interaction from his other neighbors was strange.

Viri stretched for a moment, yawning, “Well—in all honesty I don’t know how much of Mason you’ll actually see—the parlor’s only just gotten it’s head above water like last month so everyone who works there has been on edge, Mason especially—but you’ll probably see Holly, and you’ll _definitely_ see Tina.”

“And _they_ are?” Duke asked as Viri hopped off the stool and joined him on the other side of the counter.

“Holly’s basically Mason’s second in command—and the muscle of the shop.” Viri explained, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms, “Like, _no one_ messes with Holly. So no one messes with Mason. But her work’s really great—she and Mason between them have probably done all of Adelaide’s ink—which you have to see to believe it’s _incredible_. Tina’s the other tattoo artist at the parlor—actually the _only_ other tattoo artist at the parlor—but that gets into a story that isn’t mine to tell. But Tina’s sweet enough—a little spooky, but—,”

“Spooky?” Duke interrupted, turning to lean against the counter with Viri and crossing his arms as well.

Viri shrugged, “It’s hard to explain. But she just…she just _knows_ things. Or—maybe not so much that she _knows_ things, but that she says things with such _certainty_ that it’s like she knows them for fact. Sometimes it’s a little disconcerting. She’s very kind though; and is always willing to help with anything you ask from her. Mason and Holly are protective of her too—so never, under any circumstances, call her ‘spooky’ unless you’ve been given _expressed_ permission by one of them. It’s kind of like their word for her and they don’t like it when someone else uses it.”

Duke tapped his temple briefly, “Noted. But, okay, so Holly and Tina work for Mason—are there other employee names I should know? Are all employees considered part of the weird sort of collective you all have got going on here? ‘Cause I’m definitely going to need a flow chart if that’s true.”

Viri shook her head, smirking, “No, no. Tina and Holly are just…a special circumstance kind of thing. But, again, that gets into the story that isn’t mine to tell.”

Duke sighed, “Okay.”

“Mason’s owned Pins and Needles for about seven years—you should’ve been here for _that_ initiation. Mason was _so_ drunk—but that’s what you get when you try to get in a drinking contest with Adelaide. Mason’s a good kid though—smart, respectful, and really adaptable.”

Duke nodded. A pause fell over them as Viridian studied her combat boots for a moment. Finally, Duke asked, “So is there anything I should be aware of about this Mason guy? I mean, since he’s the only guy apparently in your crew, he must be pretty damn special.”

There was flicker of confusion across Viri’s face at first before her face lit up with something that made Duke a little nervous. She grinned at him, “Oh Mason’s…Mason’s _special_ alright. But, uh, why don’t we save that for karaoke night? I’m sure you two will get along just…just _great_.”

She pushed herself away from the counter and held her hand out for Duke to shake, “Well. Good luck with the rest of your moving, I’m just next door if you need anything.”

He nodded back and mumbled a “thanks” in response, giving her offered hand a single solid pump. She grinned at him once he let go of her hand, walked to the door, and paused in the doorway. She seemed to debate something for a moment before she turned back to him and smiled, albeit nervously, “I’ve got a good feeling about you being here, Duke. I think good things are coming. And…I think you’re going to bring them.”

Duke couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as he agreed, “I don’t know about that, but I definitely think that me being here is a good thing. See you soon, Viri.”

“Bye Duke.” She grinned, with that she was gone, and Duke was left to prepare for his new life.

If there is such a thing as being prepared for something like that.


	3. Chapter 3

Jennifer checked her bag again—toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, underwear, shower supplies, did she need to bring a book? Or two? Where was her phone charger? Did she grab her sketchbook?—and did another walk through of her apartment. Thea sighed next to the front door, harness on, and ready to leave. If she were a person, she’d be pointedly glancing at her wristwatch or phone screen and tapping her foot impatiently against the floor.

Jennifer scratched her head absently as she passed, “Just a couple more minutes, Thea.”

Thea just sighed out a whine in response but stayed in her position—the intense obedience training they’d gone through when she was a puppy continued to pay for itself, Jennifer decided. She knew they were only going to be gone for a weekend, but leaving her apartment empty for any length of time had always made her a little anxious. She _clacked_ her tongue stud against her teeth in thought as she hustled around the apartment. Well if her sketchbook wasn’t by her armchair in the living room, then it _must_ be in her bag, right? And if she chose to take a book, which would she choose? Would she even have time for it?

She could easily blame her mother and the whole ordeal she often went through before she was comfortable enough to finally leave the house, for why she often went through this same thing herself, but she knew that that was only part of it.

Finally, standing at the foot of her bed after checking that she’d packed her phone and laptop chargers for the fifth time—as well as basically unpacking and repacking everything to make sure she absolutely did have _everything_ —she sighed at herself and rubbed her face with her hands, “Get it together, Mason. It’s _only_ two days.”

Her mother had been trying to get her to come home and see them since the Michael Fiasco, but she’d consistently been able to put it off—there was a shop to save, anger to manage, a life to rebuild, an understanding to rework—and while she’d missed her parents, she’d had other things that _needed_ to be done. And Jennifer was very good at putting _needs_ before _wants_ —no matter how hard that could be. Her mother had understood at the time, but as more time went on, her mother became more insistent. She hadn’t _meant_ to avoid seeing her or Dad since the break up, and while she’d love to keep blaming it on the myriad of things she had to fix after Michael had done his damage, she knew that could only go so far—they only lived half an hour outside the city, not on the other side of the state.

Even if getting to the side of the city that her parents were just a half hour outside of did feel like it was on the other side of the state sometimes.

Now convinced that she had everything she needed out of her bedroom, she double-checked that all the lights were off in her room and in her tiny bathroom (as well as the faucets) before leaving it behind, closing the door as she went to check the rest of her little apartment. She checked the lights in the living room and kitchen. She made sure that the faucet was closed tight in the kitchen and that the appliances she wasn’t going to be using were unplugged. She checked that the stove was off, the doors and windows latched closed and that the blinds were pulled. She made sure she had the cloth grocery bag full of Thea’s things—food container, toys, leashes, and treats—before setting it by Thea as she passed once again as she checked her living room one last time. She left her hanging reading lamp by the big plush armchair from her parent’s house on in corner of the living room, right by the window that faced the street so that the light could come through slightly through the light curtains to give the illusion of the apartment being occupied to passersby.

It was only for two days, she continued to remind herself, and the probability of being robbed in that time was very slim, especially given that the shop was open most of the day every day anyway and she really didn’t have anything worth stealing—she was taking her laptop with her, her safe was hidden very well (like “former spy level paranoid” well), and while her television and the game system that she used mostly for Netflix were probably both worth a little something, they were both secondhand finds and were probably not worth much _third_ hand—but her luck the past year made it so that she didn’t want to risk it.

Or even tempt it.

Thea sighed again from by the door, letting out a louder and more insistent whine with it. She even went so far as to paw anxiously at the small duffle bag of Jennifer’s things that she’d set on the floor next to her as Jennifer went around and obsessively checked the apartment a final time. Jennifer smiled at her apologetically as she walked passed again, this time to unplug anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary so she wouldn’t have to pay anything more than necessary for her electricity bill. She was closer to being able to afford the luxury of leaving things plugged in, but not _that_ close.

Finally, satisfied that the world would not end—or be burned down, or robbed—if she went away for a couple of days, Jennifer stood in front of Thea. She pulled out her phone and checked the time—if she could get out of the shop in the next half hour, she’d feasibly be able to get dinner and then home before it got _too_ late. She’d already missed dinner with her parents—the sacrifices of being open from noon to eight—and she hadn’t eaten yet so she’d need to stop somewhere for that, but she’d at least be there before it got too late. Her mother wouldn’t be _ecstatic_ about the hour, but she’d be there. She slipped the phone back into the pocket of her black jean shorts. Once her hands were free again, she briefly adjusted the garter holding her burgundy tights in place—it was a bold look, Jennifer knew, but Holly had made a convincing argument about it when she’d first come up with it—mostly being that she had “killer” legs. Throw in the white and burgundy geometric chevron crop top that Tina had practically thrown at her and she was, as Viri had exclaimed, “a stone cold fox.”

She grabbed her black, thrift store aviator jacket from the wall mounted coat rack, slipped into it, and finally turned to Thea. She placed her hands on her hips and leaned down slightly so she could look Thea in the eyes, asking in a slightly higher pitch than her normal voice, “Thea, are we ready to go?”

Thea “danced” from foot to foot, still sitting anxiously, and whined once in response, prompting Jennifer to then ask, “Are we ready to go for a ride in the car?”

This caused Thea to lick Jennifer’s face excitedly, her hindquarters shaking her whole body from how fast her tail was trying to wag against the floor. Jennifer exaggeratedly wiped her face of the excess dog slobber with the sleeve of her jacket and laughed at her, “Okay, I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ A really, really gross ‘yes.’”

Thea huffed exasperatedly at her in some sort of attempt to agree with her.

Jennifer grabbed her keys and Thea’s leash from the hooks by the door, prompting Thea to stand on all four legs and start dancing more impatiently from foot to foot, creating a cacophony of nails on the hardwood floor. Jennifer slung her duffle bag and the “Doggy Bag” over her shoulder and clicked Thea’s leash to her harness. She opened the door out into the hallway and Thea burst out of the apartment like a shot, making a beeline for the staircase to their left. She didn’t get very far, thanks to the leash, but she _did_ pull on it so hard that Jennifer struggled to keep her balance as she closed and locked the door behind her.

“Jesus, hang _on_ , Thea!” Jennifer exclaimed, pulling back hard on the leash to try to wrangle Thea. Thea just whined louder and pulled harder on the leash, almost pulling Jennifer’s arm out as she went. Jennifer barely had the door locked and the keys back in her hand before Thea was pulling her down the stairs. Thea pulled her passed the work rooms and she would’ve pulled her all the way passed Holly and the front counter into the street if Jennifer hadn’t dug her heels in and got her to sit by the front door to wait while she wrapped up some last minute business. Holly was still wrapping up for the day, giving Jennifer the chance to make _certain_ that the shop would be taken care of while she was gone.

And Holly said she had control issues.

Holly looked from Jennifer to Thea and back, an expertly plucked eyebrow raised in question, “Going somewhere, Boss?”

Jennifer sighed as she momentarily set her bags on the floor and keys on the counter, “I gotta go home.”

Both of Holly’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and concern, “Everything good?”

“Oh yeah!” Jennifer clarified quickly, recognizing that her tone and demeanor could’ve been read as “burdened” rather than as “my dog is a seventy-five pound angry toddler and my arm is sore from fighting her to slow down,” as she corrected, “Yeah, no, everything’s fine—It’s just been like…a year? Since I was able to go home? What with the fallout from the whole M—,”

“Fiasco.” Holly finished for her pointedly, stopping her from saying Michael’s name. Holly hadn’t been Michael’s biggest fan _before_ he and Jen had started dating, or during for that matter, and she _definitely_ wasn’t after. Michael hadn’t, at first, really done anything to warrant Holly’s hostility, but that didn’t stop her from instinctively and genuinely despising him from the second he’d been hired.

“I just…I _hate_ that guy.” Was said often by Holly when Jennifer would ask why she was being so hostile to Michael. It almost paralleled the conversation they had had about Jennifer and Dwight’s relationship all those years ago—granted, with Dwight there was genuine warmth between him and Jennifer, where there was none between Holly and Michael. Michael had tried to be civil to Holly at first, even tried to be friends with her, but Holly always shut him down. Eventually there was nothing left but unadulterated hatred between the two of them. It made working with them both a little difficult but they were both professionals and tried to keep the depth and breadth of their disdain for each other in check until after business hours.

When everything happened between him and Jennifer, it had only strengthened Holly’s hatred. She’d never said “I told you so,” bless her, but Jennifer knew that she felt it sometimes. However, she _had_ said, on several separate occasions, that she would “fucking fight him” if she ever saw him on this side of the city again.

And everyone on the block not only believed her, but had also promised to be there to help if it happened.

So Jennifer didn’t say his name if she could help it.

Jennifer nodded, “Right. And since we’re finally doing… _okay_ , and since I feel more confident about letting you have free reign of the place—,” to Holly’s skeptical expression, Jennifer conceded, “or, well, _mostly_ free reign—I can’t very well put off going back anymore. Mom’s starting to think something’s genuinely wrong so that’s no good and Dad…well he’s Dad so who knows _what_ he’s thinking.”

She sighed out her next word, “Anyway. So Thea and I are heading out now, and we’ll be back by Monday morning—hopefully before _opening_ , but Mom might be really reluctant to let me go once I’m home. Anyway. You have the other keys, you know the combination for the safe and what bank we use, Dwight knows I’ll be gone so if there’s a problem just let him know and he’ll be here to help, uh…you’ve let my other clients know—,”  
“No I haven’t.” Holly interrupted, “This is the first I’ve heard of you leaving.”

“Oh.” Jennifer said after a moment of replaying the week in her mind to be sure she hadn’t said something to Holly, previous conversation aside. When she realized that Holly was right, she corrected herself, “Right. So. _I’ll_ call my clients.”

“Yes you will.” Holly said indignantly, reaching behind the counter and opening the appointment book to look at what they’d have that weekend.

“My bad.” Jennifer offered but Holly wasn’t listening to her anymore. Holly grumbled to herself about not being a secretary, and as she did, Tina came out from her workroom, stretching absently as she did, pulling up her crop top higher to reveal more of her stomach and side-pieces. It wasn’t uncommon for Tina to nap in her office at the end of their usual business day. It was still _unusual_ , but it wasn’t uncommon.

She sank into the couch by Thea’s chair, yawning, “Wass goin’ on?”

Jennifer turned to answer, but Holly beat her to it, “Jen’s ditching karaoke night to be with her family or whatever.”

Jennifer sighed exasperatedly, “I am not—!”

“Aw! And we’d had a pool going about which emotional white girl song Celli and Abra were going to make you sing.” Tina grinned, moving her hair so that it draped over the arm of the couch that her head was resting against, “I had 50 to 1 odds that it was gonna be _Fight Song_.”

Jennifer turned to point out to Tina that she was not, in fact, the _only_ white girl in their group who could feasibly sing said emotional songs, when Holly nodded in agreement and added, “Besides, no one quite captures that Taylor Swift-vibe like you do.”

“I should take more offense to that than I do.” Jennifer replied snidely, making a face at her.

Holly mimicked her expression, a bit more exaggeratedly, “Well you’re no Miley Cyrus.”

“And thank _God_ for that.” Jennifer rolled her eyes at both of them as Tina chuckled “What’s good?” to herself, “Anyway. As wonderful as it to _be_ the one they often get to sing the Emotional White Girl ballads—,”

“Which you love,” Holly pointed out.

“—which I love,” Jennifer conceded, shrugging, “I love my parents a _little_ bit more.”

“But only a little,” Tina giggled, moving to place her hands behind her head and crossing her black nylon-clad legs. Tina was wearing a floral print crop top and a pair of rather holey tights under cut off short, both of which demonstrated the few pieces she had on her legs and sides proudly. It seemed to be a day of crop tops for the crew at the shop, with Holly rounding out the group in a bright yellow crop with “No” written in large black block letters on the front.

Jennifer pointed warningly at Tina but didn’t reply.

Tina moved her hands from behind her head to raise them in surrender as she giggled; the faint clicking of her rings was just loud enough for Thea’s ears to perk up slightly. Jennifer turned back and looked back with Holly through the appointment book to see who she’d need to call—it wasn’t much of a list in all honesty, which was a little disheartening, but Jennifer tried not to think about it too much—and most of the names were just regulars that _might_ want something, rather than actually scheduled appointments. Tina continued to giggle from the couch to herself for another minute or so, when something occurred to her and her face fell, “Aw!”   
Jennifer and Holly both looked up, both wearing the same expression of exaggerated exasperated expectation as she continued, “But the new guy’s supposed to be there tonight!”

Jennifer gave her a confused look as Tina sat up, “New guy?”

“Oh _yeah_ ,” Holly added, absently leaning against the counter, the appointment book momentarily forgotten between them, before explaining to Jennifer, “The new guy? From the flower shop next door? That we still know next to _nothing_ about because you suck at being nosey?”

“Hey!” Jennifer protested.

“Viri’s been talkin’ him up somethin’ _fierce_ ,” Holly continued, unbothered by her, “something about him really wanting to sing Katy Perry? Or something like that—I can hardly ever keep up with her when she gets all excited and—,” she waved her hands around erratically by her face, “— _twittery_ like that, you know.”

Jennifer’s eyes lit up in recognition, “Oh that’s right! What was his name again? It was something weird. Dick? Duck? Dutch?”

“ _Duke_.” Tina corrected firmly as she leaned back into the couch, prompting Jennifer to look at her in surprise and then looking to Holly to mouth, “Excuse _me._ ” As Holly chuckled, Tina continued, undeterred, “Duke Crocker. And you _have_ to come, Mason! How else are we supposed to initiate him?”

Jennifer shrugged as she walked from the counter to Tina, “I don’t know, but I _do_ know it’ll be without me—I’ve got a father to remind that I exist, a mother to placate—,”

Thea whined from the door impatiently, again, prompting Jennifer to sigh as she leaned down to hug Tina from her position on the couch, “And a Doberman as well, it would appear.”

Tina sighed as she hugged her back, “But…The Good Things, Mason!”

Jennifer just patted Tina’s head once she pulled out of the hug, “I think you once told me that those sorts of things happen in their own time. And besides, I think the Universe is going to need to reevaluate itself if it honestly thinks that the only capital ‘g’ and ‘t’ Good Things I deserve are in the form of a _man_ — _especially_ after this past year.”

Tina made to reply to her—most likely to try to clarify what the Universe was actually going for with its Good Things—but Thea barked indignantly by the door, cutting off any comment she could’ve made, and causing her and Jennifer to jump slightly at the sound.

Jennifer looked at her disapprovingly, snapping, “Thea!”

Thea just cried in response and clawed at the door again.

Jennifer shook her head exasperatedly as she went back to grab her bags and keys, leaving Tina to pout on the couch, and hugged Holly, “I gotta go—give my love to the others, as well as my apologies—I’m sure they’ll make me pay for it next time I can go out with them—just, _please_ remind Abra of all the good I’ve done for her and Celli over the years, maybe that’ll make her more merciful. And tell me _everything_ about this new guy that Viri’s so excited about—even if she does get all _twittery_ like she does.”

Holly hugged her back, “You got it, Boss. Be safe.”

Jennifer sighed as she pulled out of the hug, “Be safe yourself—are you two staying on this side of town tonight or…?”

Holly grinned, “Apparently its extended Girl’s Night at Cay’s, so we’ll be staying with her—nothing too irresponsible will happen tonight, don’t worry.”

Jennifer nodded, slightly relieved at that, prompting Holly to squeeze her arm, her smile softer, “Have fun. Give our love to parents— _right_ Tina?”

Tina sighed but stood, gesturing grandly, “Of course. All our love to long ago. May the road be safe, and may you always find your way home to those who love you.”

Jennifer smiled at her, “Thank you, Tina.”

With that, she grabbed Thea’s leash, wrapping it around her hand a couple of times to make sure she had a good grip on it, and headed out into the street, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

The door closed before she could hear either of their responses, if there _were_ any responses. Thea kept pulling on her leach, guiding her around the building to where Jennifer’s little four door, dark blue, Pontiac Sunfire sat waiting expectantly. She’d had the car since she’d first opened Pins and Needles, and had made sure that it would last her for a very long time—but like many things in her life recently, it was being used well passed it’s prime. From the rearview mirror hung a charm that Tina had made her, promising that it would protect the car, and those who rode in it from harm. She hadn’t asked for clarifications, she’d just hung it from the mirror and often touched it just before she departed on any sort of trip.

She got Thea situated in the back seat, where she immediately started to lounge as if she were some sort of rich debutant in the back seat of her Rolls Royce. Jennifer put the bags in the trunk and climbed into the driver seat, instinctively touching the charm as she closed the door. She got her music playing and pulled out of the spot to finally start out on the road. She glanced in the direction of the flower shop as she drove passed—trying to catch a glimpse of the owner so she knew what to expect when she finally officially met him—but all she saw were flowers and a “closed” sign in the darkened window of the shop. Whoever he was, he still didn’t have a name for his store—which made her curious. She waved and honked at the shops as she passed them, seeing some of the owners still flitting about in their closing rituals. Viri’s store was as dark as the flower shop—prompting Jennifer to muse about the _reason_ Viri was so excited about everyone accepting the new guy, but she quickly abandoned that line of thought—Cadence was sweeping out the store, Celli was behind the counter as she talked to a family, and Adelaide’s cats were now perched expectantly in the display window as if they were watching the street for the things only cats can see. As she left the street behind, she started to get her mindset into going home.

It was strange that she kept thinking of her parents’ house as “home.” She had spent so long and worked so hard to make _this_ place her home, that she thought maybe she’d just start thinking about their place as just that—theirs. But there was a divide in her understanding of “home.”

 _This_ was home—the street where she’d built her business, the shops she’d learned to rely on, the people who had proven themselves to be as committed and loyal to her as her own family; who _were_ her family. They made her shop and her tiny apartment feel like hers—they made her feel like she belonged.

But the yellow house half an hour outside of the city, with the big backyard, the sunflowers, and the unrealized dream of a big family—that was home too. She wondered if there would ever come a day when she didn’t feel this split in herself.

She had thought, for a moment, that maybe she and Michael would’ve figured out a place that was _theirs_ —that they could call home and build it for and with each other—and that _that_ would get rid of the divide.

But that was not the kind of person Michael turned out to be.

You can’t make homes out of people.

“ _…Will you still love me, tomorrow?_ ” Jennifer sang with the song playing through the car stereo, trying to distract herself form the ache that was never far from her mind in what could have been.

Thea moved and placed her head on Jennifer’s shoulder, almost as if she were sensing the sadness that was actually behind her mistress’s singing. Jennifer laughed and scratched the side of Thea’s head, kissing her muzzle as she sang to her now, “ _I’d like to know that you’re love is love I can be sure of,_ ”

Thea licked her face, interrupting Jennifer’s rendition of the song. Jennifer groaned and wiped her face, “Ew! Aw c’m _on_ Thea.”

Thea just panted in her face, grinning widely.

Jennifer sang one more song before her stomach growled loudly enough to remind her that she needed to eat. She wasn’t even that far out of the city, and her mom was already blowing up her phone—even if it was a small explosion—asking when she’d be there, but with her stomach growling louder by the second, she figured she could risk being late another hour or so. She spied a diner up the street and decided she could also probably risk letting Thea stay in the car while she ate—the sun was well passed “set” now and she’d already opened the windows some to let the cooling city air work itself through her hair.

“Safe Haven Diner,” Jennifer read out loud as she pulled into the parking lot and parked. She shot her mother a text explaining her plans, and studied the diner for a moment. She wasn’t overtly familiar with this side of the city, and she couldn’t guarantee that she’d find another place to eat before she left the city limits—besides, with a name like “Safe Haven,” how bad can it be?

She turned and looked at Thea, scratching under her chin as she explained, “Okay, you be a good girl and wait here for me. I’ll bring you a doggy bag okay? Protect the car.”

Thea licked her face again before turning and settling into the backseat, even resting her head on her paws and watching her expectantly to leave.

“Whatever, Mom,” Jennifer said, speaking from Thea’s perspective, “You’re ruining my image as a badass Doberman who doesn’t follow the rules. Make sure they give me a toy with my Puppy Meal.”

She pulled out her keys and grabbed her wallet out of the center console, chuckling to herself. She pocketed her phone, wallet, and keys as she climbed out, locking the doors as she went. As she was walking in, she remembered she hadn’t actually informed her clients that she was going to be out of town yet. She called her voicemail and changed her outgoing message as she walked into the diner—slightly relieved that it was “seat yourself” so that she didn’t have to worry about seeming rude—“Hi you’ve reached J. Mason, owner of Pins and Needles; I’m unfortunately out of town this weekend so if you’re calling for professional reasons, I won’t be able to get back to you until Monday. Leave me a message with your name, number, and what you had in mind, and I’ll be sure to get back to you during our regular business hours on Monday. Thanks!”

She slid into a booth by the window that looked out to the street and her car just as she finished her recording. A blonde waitress—her nametag said “Audrey”—came over with the menu, a glass of water, and a smile as if Jennifer taking her seat in the booth summoned her, “Hi! Welcome to Safe Haven—what brings you our way?”

Jennifer smiled at her, slipping her phone into her bra as she shrugged out of her jacket, “Just heading home. Been a long time coming, but food felt like a smart first step.”

Audrey smiled, “Well you came to the right place—as a diner, food is _kind_ of our thing.”

As Jennifer laughed, Audrey’s smile widened and she asked, “What can I get you to drink?”

“Um, a hot chocolate would be great. And I’d ask for a water but it looks like you’re way ahead of me,” Jennifer smiled at her, picking up the glass and toasting her slightly before she took a drink. Audrey nodded, laughing lightly, and headed back behind the counter.

Jennifer surveyed the restaurant before she opened her menu. There weren’t many people in the diner—it was a bit late for the dinner crowd, but a bit early for the late nighters who never seem to _go_ some place but always _end up_ some place—but what people _were_ there, apparently weren’t used to seeing someone with the amount of tattoos that Jennifer had—and this was just for the ones they could _see_.

She smirked to herself and straightened in her seat, curving her back slightly to make it seem like she had more confidence than she often did.

Jennifer had always had issues with her self-image. Most girls do, she knew, and most find ways of dealing with it. For Jennifer that had manifested in wild hair colors and styles then piercings, then, finally, tattoos—which had also led to her livelihood. She’d never felt quite right in her skin, but the more she changed herself, the more like herself—her _true_ self—she felt. She’d stayed fairly conventional in high school—dying her naturally dark brown hair blonde and a nose piercing. Neither of those had lasted very long before she went for something bolder—blue and a lip piercing. The blue faded, but the lip ring stayed—much to her mother’s, rather exaggerated, adjunct horror. From there, she went with purple and a tongue stud and ended up spending more time at a tattoo parlor than anywhere else. She remembered when she learned about the apprenticeship at the parlor she’d started calling “hers”—she’d practically thrown herself at the owner, begging for the chance, understanding that it would likely come with a dollar amount and a very taxing toll on her life—and how her first day had felt like coming home. She absently moved her hand to the right side of her ribs, where her first tattoo was—not as an apprentice, that wasn’t until later, but just her first one ever. Her first as an apprentice was more of a branding for the shop and date, and that was on her back—her mentor had thought a “tramp stamp” would be funny. He had been kind of a dick, and was the reason why she had become so stringent on keeping her name and general existence in the tattoo world as androgynous as possible.

She’d initially agonized about what to get for her first tattoo for _months_ before she finally decided on a design. It was so cartoonish seeming now, compared to her other pieces but it meant something to her—it was a rabbit holding a sunflower. It wasn’t much bigger than a silver dollar, but it was a tribute to the two nicknames that her mother and father had given her—“Bunny” and “Sunflower.”

As for her confidence and feelings about her self-image, for her what had gotten her to finally accept herself was that she was always able to control what other people were looking at by changing or modifying her appearance like she did. If she wore clothes that were “bold” she knew what they were looking at, just like with her piercings and tattoos—the more she had, the more surprising they were, the more in control she felt of others perception of her. They were looking at the _things_ of her, not at _her_.

Take the little boy whose eye she caught once she sat down. He was on the other side of the diner, in a booth with his family. She didn’t have near as nonconventional hair as she used to, so she knew he was looking at her piercings and what tattoos he could see. He was trying his best not to gawk at her—his mother had raised him well, of course—but he was still young and still struggled with not looking too long.

Jennifer smiled at him, and the boy nervously looked away. When he looked back, Jennifer was still looking at him, and she stuck her tongue out at him, revealing her tongue piercing. His eyes widened in surprise and wonder and he quickly turned to tug on his mother’s sleeve to get her attention.

Jennifer quickly shifted her expression to something much more neutral and looked out the window before the mother could catch her. She couldn’t hear the mother chastise the boy for being rude, but she knew mothers well enough to know what was happening. After a few minutes had passed, she glanced back at the boy. He was still staring at her, though now a bit embarrassedly, and winked at him.

The boy blushed violently and quickly looked back to whatever it was on the table that should have been previously occupying his attention. A tall waiter approached the table to check on the family and Jennifer looked him over. He had a rather…severe face—not an un _kind_ face, just a face that looked like it wasn’t used to smiling. Audrey walked passed him and squeezed his hip, showcasing the ring on her left hand that Jennifer had missed. His hand fell to his side to covers hers for the brief moment she was still there, demonstrating his matching ring. Jennifer couldn’t help but smile at the way the man’s whole body relaxed when he looked at Audrey—it was cute.

Jennifer smiled at the scene for a moment more before she shrugged to herself and finally glanced at the menu, trying desperately to figure out what it was exactly she was hungry for, when she finally landed on a roast beef sandwich. Audrey came back almost as soon as Jennifer had decided, and placed her hot chocolate in front of her. Audrey took her order and headed back to call the order into kitchen. Jennifer took a drink from her hot chocolate carefully, when she noticed a familiar black-clad figure sitting at the bar.

Jennifer grinned to herself and took her mug of hot chocolate with her as she saddled up next to the familiar figure, “Well if it ain’t Maniac McKee!”

Jordan groaned and held her forehead as Jennifer shifted on the seat, “God you are the _only_ person who calls me that.”  
“Which is a tragedy because that is the greatest nickname-slash-book reference ever.”

Jordan grumbled to herself, as Jennifer took a drink. After a moment, Jennifer asked, “I had no idea this was part of your beat—you and Dwight always seem to be over on my side of the city.”

Jordan sighed, “No this is just…” she stopped herself, “I don’t know if we’re _friendly_ enough for you to know why I’m here.”  
Jennifer gave her an incredulous look, “Jordan, I’ve tattooed you. I call you by a nickname that you hate. We’re friendly enough.”

She sighed and mumbled into her coffee cup, “It’s my favorite restaurant.”

Jennifer looked at her expectantly. When Jordan didn’t say anything else, Jennifer tried to prompt her, “That’s it?”

Jordan nodded gravely.

“Jordan. You realize that that’s just, like, normal human interaction, right? That is—I don’t—,”

“Why are you here, Mason?” Jordan quickly changed the subject.

“Headed home—haven’t seen my parents in a year so figured it was about time.” Jennifer shrugged, then smirked, “Unless that was too _friendly_ for you, in which case—I’m just out.”

Jordan glowered at her, or maybe she just looked at her, it was kind of hard to tell with Jordan.

They sat in silence for another moment, both drinking from their respective mugs. Jordan had become a part of Jennifer’s life primarily through Dwight, though she had also been a part of the whole “drunk opening night” issue. Jordan had never been particularly forthcoming with information about herself—even her tattooing, a usually very personal experience and how Jennifer learns the most about people, had been a very quiet and impersonal interaction. Jordan was nice enough—prickly, maybe, but Jennifer never pressed her beyond what she was comfortable with. Jordan was…just Jordan. And that was fine with Jennifer.

Jennifer looked at her, “Are you working tonight? I figured you and Dwight would be out hunting bad guys or something.”

Jordan shook her head, “I’m going solo tonight. I finally convinced Hendrickson to take the night off—last I heard he was thinking of heading to that bar that you all go to on Fridays—he seemed pretty excited about the karaoke part of it but I didn’t press for details.”

“Dwight finally took the night off?” Jennifer grinned, “Willingly?”

Jordan allowed herself a very brief smile, “It took some goading, but yes. And he’s actually going to be doing something with it.”

Jennifer beamed at Jordan, “Aw look at you, McKee! Being all friendly with your partner.”

She moved to bump her shoulder against Jordan’s but Jordan held up her hand to stop her, “ _Touching_ , Mason. You know the rule.”

Jennifer stopped herself, moving back to reestablish the space between them, and held her hands up in a gesture of surrender and apology, “Sorry! Sorry. My bad.”  
Jordan shook her head and took another drink of her coffee, “It’s alright.”

They sat in an awkward silence for a moment before Jordan finished her coffee and reached for her wallet, “I better get going; my shift starts soon. Good seeing you, Mason.”

Jennifer nodded, waving to her, “Yeah! Yeah good to see you too—stop by the shop sometime, I’m sure it’s about time to touch up your piece.”

Jordan allowed herself another smile; “Still gonna get a police discount?”

“Are you still pretending that how we met didn’t happen?”

“I dunno, my memory seems to be improving—,” Jordan teased.

“Then you still get a police discount.” Jennifer responded, scrunching her nose at Jordan. It wasn’t often that Jordan was willing to joke around, but when it happened, Jennifer thought it was best to just roll with it.

Jordan chuckled—it wasn’t a deep laugh, but it was at least the start of one—and made her way to the door, “Later Mason. Have a safe trip.”

“Be seein’ ya, Maniac McKee.” Jennifer grinned.

Jordan’s groan was only just drowned out by the jingling of the bell on the door.

Jennifer took her mug back to her booth just as Audrey came around with her sandwich. Jennifer shook her head as she shifted on the bench seat, “Honestly you have _got_ to be psychic or something—that’s like the third time you’ve come up with just perfect timing.”

Audrey smirked, “It’s a gift. Nathan—my husband, over there,” she nodded back towards the man who had waited on the table with the Gawker Boy, “he thinks our kids aren’t gonna stand a chance at being rebellious because I’m always going to be right there, just in time to stop it.”

Jennifer shrugged, “Well perfect timing never stopped me—but I turned out just fine.”

Audrey laughed, then immediately looked mortified at her blunder, unsure suddenly if Jennifer’s comment had been something to laugh at. Jennifer grinned and offered her an olive branch of a chuckle to let her know that it was okay to laugh at her comment.

Audrey smiled with relief and placed the sandwich in front of Jennifer, prompting her to exclaim, “Holy shit!”

“Something wrong?”

“No it’s just—maybe I didn’t read the description or—it’s _smothered_ in gravy!”

Audrey gave her a confused look, “Is…? Is that a problem? Do you want something else?”

Jennifer shook her head, “Are you kidding? This is the best surprise I’ve had all day!”

As Jennifer started to dig into her sandwich—fork and knife in hand—Audrey turned to leave, when something made her stop.

She turned back to Jennifer, leaning a hip against the opposite booth seat, and asked, “I don’t mean to pry but…that woman you were talking to earlier? Do you know her?”

“Jordan?” Jennifer asked around a bite of her sandwich. She swallowed quickly and wiped her mouth, “I mean—kind of? She’s the partner of a good friend of mine, I’ve tattooed her before, every once in a while she’ll drink at the bar my friends and I frequent—why?”

Audrey shook her head, “Oh, no reason, I just—I didn’t think Jordan had friends outside of Dwight or…well, us here at the diner, I guess.”

Jennifer couldn’t help but laugh a little, “Yeah, Jordan’s a little… _spiky_. But she’s always put up with me so we’re okay. How do you know her? She mentioned—after some goading—that this is her favorite restaurant, but not much else.”

Audrey shrugged, “As long as I can remember, she’s come here for most of her meals.” She laughed, “We probably know the exact same amount of information about her.”

Jennifer laughed too, before considering that they were basically friends anyway, just missing each other’s names, and held her hand up and out to Audrey, “I’m Jennifer, by the way; Jennifer Mason.”

She smiled and took her hand, “Nice to meet you, Jennifer. I’m Audrey Parker. Well, Audrey Parker-Wuornos, but it’s just easier to say ‘Audrey Parker.’”

Jennifer pumped her hand solidly, still smiling, then turned back to her sandwich. Audrey, let her get a couple more bites in before asking, “So where’re you from?”

“Mm,” Jennifer answered, finishing half her sandwich, “East side; out on tenth? I own Pins and Needles Tattoos. I don’t usually come out this way—or, well I haven’t been out this way in like a year—my parents live just like half an hour outside of the limits on this side, but the last year has been… _challenging_.”

Audrey gave her a sympathetic wave, “Say no more. Well, I’ll be back around later to check on you, enjoy the rest of your meal. It was nice to meet you, Jennifer.”

Jennifer toasted her with her class of water, “Same to you, Audrey.”

Jennifer ate in peace, even managed to finish her sandwich, before an all too familiar voice said just behind her, “Jennifer?”

Everything about her tensed and turned cold. Even before he came into her line of sight, Jennifer knew who it was— _Michael_.

He slid into the other seat of the booth, looking at her with wonder in his dark eyes, as if he’d forgotten how she looked—or that she had ever been anything outside of him and his influence on her. He ran his fingers briefly through his short, thick black hair as he studied her.

“You’ve changed your hair.” He said, trying to smile at her.

She didn’t say anything. She just kept staring at him. His hair was shorter. That was all she could think to say back to him. He still had the black “sacred” geometric tattoo on his neck and throat that she knew continued down part of his chest and over his shoulders and arms. It was thick black shapes with gaps of his skin between. He’d gotten them in the Ukraine, he had always been happy to tell her—gloating she knew now. He didn’t have his eyebrow ring anymore, just the scar from where it was ripped out by something. There were dark circles under his almond shaped eyes. He was tanner than she remembered.

She expected hatred or anger to make an appearance as she stared at him—the man who came so _close_ to taking everything she loved away from her—but she didn’t feel anything. She thought, by some sort of horrific chance, that she’d still feel something for him like when they had first gotten together—some sort of spark or wonder at how he could be real. But absence did not make her heart grow fonder.

It just made her heart grow colder.

“Why are you here?” She asked simply, “Who could I have _possibly_ pissed off in the universe enough to run into _you_ here?”

Michael smiled at her, “It’s good to see you too, Jenny.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “Don’t fucking call me that.”

He tsked his tongue at her, teasingly, “Is that anyway to treat an old friend?”

“No.” She conceded, “But it’s exactly how I plan on continuing to treat literal pieces of human garbage so I suggest you get used to it.”

His jaw twitched—an old movement from clenching his jaw in agitation—something she’d gotten used to in their year together, something that would’ve sent her spiraling in a panic as she tried to figure out how to fix it—as he continued to try to smile at her.

She wasn’t scared of him anymore.

And it was becoming clear that he wanted something from her.

Jennifer shrugged into her jacket and crossed her arms in front of her chest as she leaned back into the seat, “What do you want, _Mikey_?”

His jaw twitched again—he wasn’t the only one who could pull up old nicknames that he didn’t like—an she couldn’t help but smile as she continued, “Or is it just some sort of weird cosmic coincidence that the one diner I end up in on my way home— _which_ , by the way, I haven’t been able to go to since I’ve been cleaning up after _you_ —happens to be the diner you frequent on this side of the city?”

“Well you _are_ on _my_ side of the city. If you recall, I was more or less banished from the East side thanks to that pit bull of yours.” Michael pointed out, the edges of his smile looking more forced than before—almost turning it into a snarl.

“You wanna talk about vicious creatures that want to rip your throat out, I’ve got Thea in my car—she’s been _dying_ for a visit. Besides, if Holly knew what was happening right now, you’d be _begging_ for a real pit bull to be the one to rip you apart.”

Michael clenched his jaw for a moment, before he sighed, “Jenny— _Jennifer_ , this wasn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“Really? Because this is exactly how I thought our first meeting since you tried to steal everything away from me would go.” She laughed mirthlessly.

He studied her for a moment, as if coming to the complete realization that she genuinely hated him and that surprised him. How could that _surprise_ him? Had they gotten so warped in their relationship that they’d forgotten what they had been before each other?

She hoped not.

“I have a business proposition.”

She moved out of the bench seat and stood, “Goodbye Michael.”

He moved to grab her hand to stop her, “Jen, wait—,”

She snatched her hand out of his reach, “Don’t you fucking _touch_ me!”

It was louder than she intended, and more than a few restaurant patrons turned their gaze towards them, Audrey’s among them. Audrey glanced at Nathan who was also now looking at the pair, and through twitches in facial features, the two were able to have an entire conversation about what their next moves would be should Jennifer and Michael’s situation escalate any further.

Jennifer swallowed the urge to yell at him further—she didn’t want people to look at them, she couldn’t control that gaze—the subsequent pause was just long enough for him to continue with his pitch since she’d stopped, “Just listen, Jen. I’ve got a new business partner, a woman with a divorce settlement check burning a hole in her pocket—,”

“You a home wrecker now? Wrecking businesses and lives not enough for your?”

“— _and_ ,” he continued, trying to be undeterred by her comment, “we’ve been thinking about expanding our businesses and—I mean, you’d still own your building but—,”

“Go fuck yourself Michael.” Jennifer said, turning on her heel and heading for the register.

Audrey met her there, clear questions written all over her face, while Nathan stood with feigned nonchalance behind the counter in a very specific location—where whatever form of weapon they had for defending the diner was, if Jennifer had to guess, “Everything alright?”

Jennifer let out an agitated breath, “It will be. Sorry, I would’ve just left my money on the table but I couldn’t be sure that my new tablemate wouldn’t try to steal it—he has a nasty habit of trying to take what isn’t his.”

Audrey’s eyebrows shot up at that, but she continued to try to not pry as she rang Jennifer up.

Michael approached her shortly after that, causing her and the owners of the restaurant to tense, “Jenny, you’re being unreasonable! You haven’t even heard—,”

“I don’t _need_ to hear it, Michael.” Jennifer snapped, refusing to look at him as she waited for Audrey to give her her change, “The answer continues to and always will be “go fuck yourself,” but if that’s too many words for you to understand my meaning then how about a rock solid “ _no_.””

“Jenny—,” he tried again, reaching out to touch her shoulder. This caused Nathan’s hand to disappear beneath the counter for whatever weapon was hidden there.

“Touch me again and I’ll scream.” Jennifer snarled, ducking out of his reach and finally turning to look at him, “You will _never_ take Pins and Needles from me.”

“It wouldn’t be “taking,” Jennifer!” Michael yelled back, “It would be doing you a favor! You’ve got what, two artists still? Less than half of your clientele? Your store is _dying_.”

She glared at him, “And whose fault is that?”

Michael bit his tongue at that; even he had to admit that she had him there. Jennifer turned back to Audrey, “Keep the change.”

Audrey nodded as Jennifer turned to leave, but Michael tried to stop her one last time, saying gently and feigning genuine concern, “Jennifer, you can’t run a tattoo parlor with only three artists. Eventually, something’s gotta give.”

Jennifer just flipped him the bird as she exited the diner and went back to the car. Thea perked up when Jennifer unlocked the car and climbed in. She plugged her phone back into the radio as she started the engine and found something fast and loud that she could blare and scream with.

 _Fuck_ Michael. How _dare_ he presume to know what Jennifer was capable of? How _dare_ he try and act like he was the good guy in their situation? How _dare_ he bring their drama into public like that?

Thea sniffed at her head as Jennifer drove from the diner and towards her parents’ house. The sound pulled her from her thoughts and made her realize that Jennifer was clutching the steering wheel to white knuckles. She reached up and scratched Thea’s neck, sighing as she did.

As much as it pained her to admit it, Michael was right. Her shop had rebounded recently since Michael had done his damage, which had been a miracle, and like most miracles, there was no guarantee that they’d be able to maintain it or do it again. That wasn’t to doubt her artists—her _friends_ —in any way; it was just recognizing the completely unpredictable nature of the world. But the one thing Jennifer knew for absolutely certain, was that she couldn’t do another year like this.

Not again.

They had gotten too close to losing it all; she had given up too much and sacrificed too much to ever let that happen again—she didn’t have anything else left. She’d been so busy just trying to survive, that she hadn’t considered how they would _thrive_. It was time she did something that she’d been putting off, however unintentionally.

She unplugged her phone and called Holly’s cell—she knew all too well that she and Tina were already at the bar with everyone else, but what she needed to talk to Holly about was important enough to leave a voicemail.

“Hol it’s me. Look, I know you’re gonna bitch at me about not being a secretary but listen—I need you to put out a want ad for artists and apprentices. It’s time. Call me back when you can and we’ll talk details so we can get it to the paper and just out in general by Monday. Talk to you later.”


End file.
